Funeral Cake Factory
by Lubricht
Summary: 1914, Aldebaran: Gavril Rochester is desperate to fix his broken life. After deciding to hitch a train ride with his cousin Anois to escape from their hometown of Prontera, the two realize that they have to rely on each other far more than they expected. Slowly but surely, they adapt with their new surroundings, improving their lives with the help of friends and unfamiliar faces.
1. Prologue: A Glimpse of the Future

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Prologue – A Glimpse of the Future**

**1945th Year of the Imperial Calendar – _Leiterbunker_, Aldebaran**

It was a sweltering summer day outside a certain granite-walled apartment located at the outskirts of the city of Aldebaran. The apartment's owner, a man around his fifties, was convinced that the outside was filled with darkness, death, and helplessness. He considered the outside as a mere illusion, and his room could in fact, for all purposes, be the safest place in the world.

Quietly and firmly seated upon his finely-chiseled pinewood armchair, this man known to his subordinates simply as "_Leiter_" deftly flipped the pages of the briefing documents that were neatly stacked on the table in front of him. He had been inside the room for about half an hour – eagerly waiting for someone's arrival. The frustration was slowly driving him to the edge.

In his boredom, this man, with a mild build and stature for someone in his age, gradually took the documents apart. Silently and neatly, he unbound each parchment. He then sighed after finishing the last of the paperwork, as if the act lifted a tremendous burden from his shoulders. Staring at the documents for one last time, he admired the wall of text built by the blocks of words printed on the paper. Without another thought, he picked up a batch of the documents and flung them out of the only window available in the room. No wind passed freely inside the man's room, but the documents drifted ever so slowly despite their substantial weight.

He picked up another batch of documents, and another one, and then another… until all but one piece of paper remained in his hand. He then examined the final piece of printed text, perhaps for him to create a vivid reminder of his actions.

Then, as if an attack coming from behind him, aggressive knocks on the door echoed across the dimly-lit room. Having lost his concentration and solace, he decided to answer the person waiting for him on the other side. He had been expecting an important visitor – terribly late, considering the things he wanted to discuss.

A grim and expressionless face greeted _Leiter_ upon opening the heavy wooden door. It wasn't the man's expected visitor, rather it was his subordinate – his adjutant, to be exact – who carried with him a standard-issue assault rifle and a loaded cartridge. The man gladly accepted the armaments from his adjutant, and ordered him to leave him at peace for the time being.

The adjutant, being rather persuasive, asked for a few moments to at least report the situation from the outside. It was this information that the man ever so wanted, yet dreaded for its ability to be able to push him into a corner. Any compromised detail would mean a direct distortion from his carefully laid-out plans.

_Leiter_ remained silent, and waited for the adjutant to finish his report. It was but another of those typical correspondence in the military, which he painfully listened to every single day despite hating all of its aspects. He believed that correspondence is all but a scripted pile of deception, especially if the message came from people in the service that he barely even trusted.

The adjutant however, wasn't only carrying typical correspondence – he had another message. It was something the man wouldn't want to hear. But news was news and its spread was inevitable, for no information could be hidden forever unless all the vital and necessary fragments of the story were destroyed.

The adjutant finally finished his report. Though the aged man wanted to leave and ignore the message, his ears couldn't forget the words which were apparently burned in his memory with the speed of thought. The supposed visitor, his right-hand man – which his subordinates call the "_Vice Leiter_," died together with the members of the 88th Infantry in defense of the southern border of Aldebaran. The man shivered in fear, for his enemies were but a stone's throw away from his primary base.

He then heard the sound of artillery fire coming from the window, as if warning him of the time he had remaining.

(Notes: _Leiter_ is the German word for Leader.)


	2. Chapter 1: Snakes and Ladders

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 1: Snakes and Ladders**

**February 7, 1914 I.C. – Nuernberg Terminal, Aldebaran [03:56PM]**

After what seemed like an eternity, Gavril Rochester finally regained consciousness as his train bound to Nuernberg Terminal came to a screeching halt.

He let out a yawn, and then slowly removed the teardrops making their way towards the sides of his eyelids. Using the glass window on his right as a makeshift mirror, Gavril examined his reflection for any piece of dirt. His olive green eyes sparkled as the sunlight repeatedly bombarded the glass, melting the frost it collected throughout the train's four-day journey.

The young man in his late twenties lazily stretched his arms across his third-class seat at the back carriage made of cheap foam and plywood, then slowly scanned the hazy images that greeted his sight for a brief moment. Finding nothing of interest, he focused his gaze at a defaced sign board on a wall visible from his cabin instead. The boldface letters spelled out with red paint on the sign confirmed that his current location was Aldebaran – one of the nations in the region suffering from economic instability.

Gavril stood up from his seat to fix his only corporate suit, and removed the snow it accumulated before his departure from Lazreagues Station at Prontera. He tried his best not to think about his hometown – which he left for various reasons, and instead focused on his upcoming meeting as he boarded out of the train. After fixing his hair and reattaching the straps of his leather boots, he finally took his suitcase under his seat and exited the cabin with it.

As he approached the carriage's main door, Gavril stopped for a moment and knocked a few times at a separate cabin door to his left. _No response_.

"Anois… wake up. We're here." Gavril spoke in a low, commanding tone. He waited, and still received no response from the other side of the cabin. He quickly lifted the door's hatch after a few seconds and ushered himself in. "Excuse me, Miss Dupont."

The cabin was surprisingly dim, despite the adequate amount of sunlight penetrating its glass window. There, he found comfortably seated at the corner was a female around her early twenties, wearing a fur coat whose trimmings were also covered with traces of snow. The female known as Anois Dupont turned slowly to her addressor, and stared blankly.

"Let's go. Leif is waiting for us." Gavril said in a monotone, ignoring any resistance Anois may present him. The supposedly unresponsive female then sighed, stood up from her wooden seat, and went out of the dungeon-like cabin, leaving Gavril at the door.

"I told you to stay with me at OUR cabin, cousin. You knew too well that I'm not comfortable in being left alone, especially in enclosed spaces– unless someone stays with me!" Anois complained. Gavril remained stern and didn't give an immediate answer, much to the lady's surprise. She hesitated to leave for a moment; for it appeared that her cousin was taking the chance to glance back at the cabins that served as their temporary home for the last four days– as if expecting an apparition to appear on the glass.

"…by 'someone' you meant me, correct?" Gavril clarified Anois' statement as soon as he got off the train.

The young man's abrupt answer didn't escape his cousin's attention. "You seem quite happy, Gavril. I bet you're as excited as I am. But all you can do is frown at everything you see. Maybe I need to loosen you up later when we get a place to sleep."

"If there is one thing that makes me happy Anois, then it is the fact that we are going to start anew with our lives here, in Aldebaran. Being your cousin simply comes as a bonus." Upon saying this, Gavril felt an intense weight tugging his left arm. "Anois… I know you are _very_ fond of me and all, but would you please get off me? You're ruining my attire."

"I wasn't trying to hug you, _Gabby_…"

"Suit yourself. Carry the luggage until we meet up with Leif. I hope you understand that he runs very late at matters like this." Gavril said. Anois however, didn't appear to be interested for anything he had to say at that moment. Instead, she focused on the architecture surrounding her. Aldebaran was much like Prontera with its monstrous concrete buildings and cathedrals– it was almost impossible to notice the economic problems the city was actually facing. The scenery was all too simple, like it was copied from some painting. She could only wonder why out of all places, her cousin decided to stake their remaining fortune in such an unstable nation. Aldebaran was at its limit since the waterways closed, and its citizens were slowly succumbing to the clutches of poverty.

It appeared like another busy day in Aldebaran. People were still flocking in the cobblestone streets, merchants selling their earthenware, and the peasantry still trying to make a living out of the few coins they have left.

The city's entire industry was once propelled by its very own waterways, but after it accumulated enough resources, several high ranking politicians agreed to shut it down in favor of other matters of the state.

The effort of keeping Aldebaran a livable place continued to thrive despite the worsening economic condition. Jobs were getting difficult to find, and workers were getting laid off. Farming and similar jobs were gaining more public support from the citizenry.

During this time of great necessity, most of the country's inhabitants believed that Aldebaran deserved more than what it had as a nation of resilient people. It appeared that nobody anticipated the possibility of the country succumbing to poverty.

The young man sighed at the way things appeared before him. It wasn't perfect, yes. But he yearned for something better. The Aldebaran he dreamed of was now just a crumbling shell of deception and blatant abuse of power. The once brightly lit streets are now gone, and most of the commercial centers have shut down due to the decreasing influx of trade. _The industrial revolution did more damage than improvements, if any_. With the shallow political decisions that led to Aldebaran's current status, Gavril still couldn't understand how the citizens stomached the shame that their own leaders made them carry.

He scanned the streets, and found not a single sound of defiance among the people. _I'm surrounded with idiots_.

"Look at the people, Anois. Look at them." Gavril spoke ruggedly under his breath. He swung his arm as if he was presenting a report. "Do you think they're happy about this entire situation? Do you think any single Aldebaran citizen wished to live a life of destitution? How should they feel about the people managing the region's dwindling commerce? Look at them closely Anois, you know that somewhere deep in their hearts, they all hate the economic powers that control them. Some of them don't even know that their entire lives are ruled and influenced by a few people holding important government positions and businesses!"

Anois frowned at his cousin's 'speech' and sighed. "I know you're a sympathizer for the Aldebaran people's plight but…"

"But what, Anois?" Gavril interrupted. "You dare call me a 'sympathizer' when I am much more than that! We were already struggling to live before we even arrived here. It was merely a stroke of luck that we even managed to escape from that hellhole!" He then grabbed the luggage his cousin was carrying for him, and took out a few pieces of mint-scented paper.

"Put that back in, you idiot! I get you already! And please stop making a scene!" Anois protested as she yanked the suitcase back, but her plea was totally powerless– and useless– against her cousin's 'deafness'.

"Do you know what these are, Anois? These pieces of paper… these pieces of scented paper with our leader's faces on it are the symbols of our enslavement! We all like to think and pretend that the whole world belongs to us, when none of us are actually free! Money, and the cowards who call themselves our 'leaders' are the reasons why we left that rotten place you dearly call 'home'!"

Anois stopped responding. Irritated, she simply walked away from her cousin and dragged the suitcase with her.

"Where do you think you're going, my dear cousin? We have nowhere to go!" Gavril stated as he followed Anois' path. He grabbed the suitcase one more time and gripped its handle firmly. "If you want to start your life here with me, then you have no choice but to stay with me. I am your only way in. I am also your only way out." he whispered close to her ear with a chuckle.

"Just shut up already, Gavril. Prove your words with actions. If you aren't able to, then all you have just said will be considered senseless babble."Anois shot back.

Gavril paused for a moment, realizing the challenge aimed at him. He searched his coat pocket for a few seconds and pulled out a pair of reading glasses– placing it firmly atop his nose bridge. He _had_ to look serious, after all.

"You still keep that piece of trash?" Anois commented. But Gavril didn't appear to be listening, much to her disdain.

The 'deaf' young man happily strolled forward and rushed to the terminal's exit without much warning. His smile beamed while he clutched his battered suitcase on one hand, pulled his cousin's hand on the other.

"Watch me closely, Anois. For the sake of everyone's happiness, I will recreate this stupid reality."


	3. Chapter 2: Backgammon

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 2: Backgammon**

**February 7, 1914 I.C. – Nuernberg Terminal, Aldebaran [04:37 PM]**

Leif Moreau sat quietly while reading the day's paper on a bench outside the snow-covered entrance of Nuernburg Terminal. He waited for the arrival of Gavril Rochester – his childhood friend, who finally agreed to leave his hometown and start a new life in Aldebaran. Opposite his location was the portentous façade of the city's most defining landmark– the Clock Tower. He took out his pocket watch to confirm the time and clicked the device's cold, metal buttons – synchronizing its mechanism to the robotic motions of the tower's hands. Despite wearing a thick, woolen jacket and gloves, still beside him was a small cup of hot chocolate which he ordered a few moments ago to ease the cold sensation biting at his fingertips.

_Heavens… he's running late. What's taking him so long?_ Leif surveyed the Station's perimeter a few minutes earlier and found no trace of his friend. The last train scheduled for the day had already parked, and the last few passengers of that very same train had left as far as his eyes and the train's schedule was concerned. The station was in the process of shutting down for the day. The man in his late twenties stood up from his seat and decided to leave when he noticed his beverage wasn't there any longer. In its place was the stain of freshly spilled chocolate… and beside it was a man wearing a corporate suit. The sharply dressed man smiled, flicked his tongue with satisfaction, and snickered at Leif after downing the last drop of the beverage from the cup that the latter left on the bench.

"You're paying for that drink with your suit, Gavril…" Leif said after he crumpled the newspaper between his knuckles. He then aimed at the young man's face and threw the spreadsheet.

"Ha! You expect a poor fellow like me to pay?" Gavril replied jokingly after dodging the projectile. Leif remained silent for a moment, and then conversed with Gavril's companion.

"Hey, Anois…" Leif called out to the lady at Gavril's side, whom he last saw as a prepubescent girl. "I DO hope that your cousin treats you right. I mean, seriously… you'll never know what's going on inside his brain… so you better be careful." The lady shrugged the "warning" off, and clung to her cousin's arms, giggling in defiance.

After adjusting his clothing to the cold, Leif suggested to his friends that they all take a first-class horse carriage together en route to his apartment. In his own words, this was his way of expressing his severe mistrust of automobiles and upholding his views about the gloriousness of _organic transportation_. The trio waited until a horse carriage stopped near the station, wherein Leif contracted the driver and took care of the expenses. Upon boarding, Leif finally expressed his personal greetings to the two.

"You're getting old and rich, _Herr_ Moreau… for a 27 year-old, that is." Gavril smirked after cushioning his back against the seat. Leif simply chose to ignore his friend's usual pastime of "insulting" people.

"It's quite surprising that you can still talk that much after travelling for five straight days, _Gabby_."

"Five? You mean four! Oh, and the ride was wonderful, Leif… _if you know what I mean_." Gavril yawned out.

Hearing this, Leif glanced over where Anois was comfortably seated, and sighed. "You wasted her again, didn't you?"

Gavril didn't respond. Instead, he slightly opened his suitcase and took out a small carton box covered with cheap gift wrap and laced with pieces of silk ribbons. He examined the package for any signs of damage that may have been inflicted on it due to the abuse it underwent upon arriving at the terminal. Finding no scratches whatsoever on the cover, he finally gave the package to Leif and told him to _open it_. The package was incredibly lighter than Leif had expected, so he took the liberty to shake the box near his ear in an effort to guess its contents.

"You're absolutely sure this isn't an explosive, _Gabby_? I have to inform you that my insurance wouldn't be enough to finance you and Anois by the time you're both seventy."

Gavril's grin widened. "Just open the freaking box… you'll love it."

Leif took one last gulp before unlacing the package piece by piece. What he saw inside it made him sweat despite the cold.

Cushioned gently within the box was a thin, cylindrical piece of metal with a pointed tip. It was hollow on both ends, with the rear being slightly wider than that of the front, which was conical enough to pierce through cloth. Precisely clamped at the rear was a small switch that revealed a hidden cylinder containing black, sticky fluid within the entire contraption. To Leif's eyes, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, if not the only artifact he ever dreamed of owning– A _Kristiansen_ Fountain Pen.

"W-where did you get this? Even I couldn't buy one if I were to speak of my salary!"

Leif couldn't even imagine how his friend managed to acquire such a rare property. It has been reported that only three pieces existed in the entire world since its creation in 1850, two which belong exclusively to the Kristiansen family, owner and founder of the world's banking system. _Then the last piece is…_

"Don't even start. I can ascertain its authenticity if you want to." Gavril spoke the moment Leif turned his head towards him. He clearly saw the tension building up within the man whom he last saw as a boy, crying while being dragged towards the train station.

After calming himself, Leif decided to cover up the package again. He hadn't laid a finger on the thing at all. He stared straight into Gavril's eyes, somehow trying to grasp the man's intentions. He wanted to start touring the two like a normal old-timer would do, but after all the surprise, he didn't know what to do next. Selling the artifact was all the more unspeakable. Then an idea hit him squarely on the head. He reached for his coat pocket with a grin on his face.

Leif cautiously took out a small piece of crumpled paper from his coat pocket and slowly gave it to Gavril. Anois, interested of the fuss over the gift, loomed over to check the note. She whispered in Gavril's ear, inquiring about its contents.

"Read it. Maybe that'll enlighten you." Leif spoke heavily under his breath. "It looks like a worthless pile of trash, but I tell you now… that alone is one of the reasons why I love being a journalist."

"So, now you work for the press? Goodness gracious, Leif… I never knew you would–" Before he could finish speaking, Leif shoved the note to Gavril's chest. Surprised by the journalist's behavior, he decided to read the first few lines of the note.

_**PRONTERAN DISPOSITION ON TERRITORIAL EXPANSION – ALLOCATED FUNDS FOR ARMS PROCUREMENT**_

"The Kristiansen's are at it again." Gavril groaned in disgust. "There is this conspiracy theory that the Kristiansen family controls all the banks from the shadows and establishes businesses as fronts for their operation to control the world's economies."

"We can't simply blame the people who run the government, _Gabby_. Not all of them are in control." Anois said sternly.

Leif intervened. "Control or no control, conspiracy or not, we must remember that there's been an exponential increase in the activity of pro-expansionists in Geffen. The number of people who wanted to ally themselves with Prontera and be "absorbed" to avoid being attacked by neighboring countries is becoming an international concern. As a result of gaining this "living space", Prontera increased their weaponry production in order to defend any of their newly acquired borders."

Gavril shook his head. "You speak as if Morroc and the rest of the world are NOT interested, Leif. It would practically gain a lot if Geffen sells itself." Hearing this, Leif waved his hand back and forth, signaling a contradiction in his friend's statement.

"Believe it or not, Gabby… Morroc IS interested even if Geffen is miles away from their border. Even Aldebaran's officials are making their covert operations to gain more support from the pro-expansionists. Whichever nation they eventually join in will have bragging rights in terms of land area, resources, and economic stability. Much like how a leech sucks the life out of its host, Aldebaran can turn the tables against the South Alliance, as well as with Morroc in terms of outsourcing. It's obvious they'll choose Prontera, though. I mean, who wouldn't? Geffen wouldn't gain much even if it was absorbed by an already unstable nation."

Gavril took a deep gulp and wiped the sweat forming at his brow. "Assessing the current conditions of the North, South, and Morroc's territories, any wrong move will likely lead to an invasion. What about the opposition? Surely there are people against this."

"I can provide you names once we get to my apartment. This is the best part of my job." the journalist winked.

Silence once again engulfed the carriage in which the three friends were boarded. Leif gazed at the tired youngsters sitting in front of him, and proceeded to distract himself by staring at the gray view outside. The weather was _getting erratic_.

(Notes: Herr is the German word for Mister, whereas Fraulein is Miss)


	4. Chapter 3: Parcheesi

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 3: Parcheesi**

**February 8, 1914 I.C. – Neuchwanstein Lodge, Aldebaran [02:15AM]**

"In one way or another, all human beings are suffering from a mental illness. If we were all normal, then the world itself will be stagnant and monotonous. There will be no variation or even the slightest deviation from the norm. Surely, if anyone of us wished for a perfect world through and through, then awaiting in the end of that wish of perfection is nothing but regret and suffering. We may reach the point wherein everyone is pure, where everyone is borne of the same mold, but in that moment, it will be too late for everyone to realize how much humanity has fallen from the Creator's grace."

The young and delicate lady who declared this statement withdrew into a brief moment of silence, perhaps to emphasize her point to the audience, or perhaps to take a breather from all the events that transpired a few hours earlier.

She bowed her head and focused her gaze on the table in front of her, admiring the intricate design of the linen tablecloth. She smiled as the two other people sitting with her remained silent. It was the signal that their discussion was already over. Nobody raised an objection even as she pulled her seat backward and left the table.

"Anois."

The young lady stopped upon hearing her name being called out. She inched her hand away from the doorknob and tilted her head towards the direction of her addressor. _What else do you want?_

"How come you're leaving so early?" asked the man who sat with her on the table. The man questioning her wasn't any ordinary commoner. Above all else, the man was her lover, and her cousin. _Gavril Rochester_. They have discussed multitudes of topics for the past few hours, yet for some reason, Gavril chose the obscure subject of this legendary figurehead that even Leif agreed to sit down at the table and discuss matters with them.

"I believe _Fraulein_ Dupont is at her limit, _Gabby_. It's getting late, so I suggest you take her to your room and enjoy the evening." said the other man who sat with her. Anois frowned. She simply wanted to rest and regain her energy from all of her activities during the day, but being with the two men made it near impossible. Foremost, Leif was a very able journalist – he had a lot of topics to discuss with Gavril on a whim. He can also nit-pick every single statement over the course of the discussion if he wanted to. Next was how his cousin became overly eager to discuss matters about a certain legendary personality.

"I have better things to do rather than discuss the imaginary life of some imaginary figurehead being worshipped blindly by a man with a wild imagination." Anois said in defeat. She eventually forced the door open and banged it shut afterwards. To the two men left in the table, losing her opinion on the matter was not much of a deal. Her opinion has been heard, and that was enough. _Democracy works that way_.

Gavril yawned and flipped the paperwork in front of him. Opposite his seat was Leif, who was in the process of editing the headline for his weekly magazine entitled, "National Priority". It was not a publication to scoff about. Its sales alone easily made Leif a celebrity in Aldebaran. Gavril could only imagine how his childhood friend managed to survive in a country more dangerous than the one he previously inhabited… much more dangerous and volatile than Prontera. Upon their entry to the hotel earlier, he and Anois were met with curious gazes. _Of course people will be wondering why Leif was even spending his time with commoners like us_.

"Something seems to be bothering you, my friend. How can I help you?" Leif said out of the blue.

Gavril remained silent. He was thankful for the courtesy Leif gave them upon their arrival, but he didn't feel obligated to answer his question.

"Everyone in Aldebaran knows 'her'." Leif mumbled. "It's simply a topic we barely touch anymore since it's too mundane. She is idolized in one way or another, but I've never seen anyone like you who actually worships her legend, Gavril… even if you aren't even a citizen borne of this country. Everyone here… from children to adults, have been taught since their first step at school about 'her', and how she personifies Aldebaran itself."

Gavril nodded in amusement. "Of course, I know her… she is Luina, the Arch Sage – The founder of Aldebaran and the Clock Tower." He then jerked his head upward with relief, as if saying Luina's name alone was enough for him to climax over and over.

Leif was no history buff, but when it came to nationalistic symbolism such as that of Luina, he transforms to a severely meticulous individual, making sure that all facts related to an event was authentic, reliable, and valid. It was pretty easy for anyone to blatantly ignore history labeled as a "legend" as a mere concoction of a primitive mind, but Leif thought otherwise. After years of extensive research, he had already arrived at the conclusion that there was no doubt that Luina, the Arch Sage existed sometime in the remote past. What he needed now was concrete evidence.

"Luina originally came from the floating city of Juperos. She somehow managed to survive its cataclysmic destruction by cooperating with the city's leading Technomancer before the connected islands exhausted the fuel of its floatation mechanism. She and the surviving Sages managed to salvage and reconnect three of the forty five islands which we all know today as floating city of Juno." Leif related his extensive knowledge in cold precision, while his friend simply gobbled the information like some sort of fanatic.

"I can't help myself not to love her, Leif." Gavril said upon shoving his cheek on the linen tablecloth. "She is the embodiment of pure perfection. Her resolve is comparable to that of the gods. She faced tremendous resistance and conflicts during her establishment of this city, and even today her legend remains untainted. I may not have finished my collegiate art studies, but I do know how to appreciate beauty. I don't even know where to begin with regards to Luina. I can't help myself, really. Compared to Anois – "

"Now, now Gavril… you're going way off course!" Leif warned. "You're exaggerating her qualities already. She never met any resistance with regards to– "

"Nay, Leif. Luina is worth exaggerating for." Gavril reacted immediately, unwavering in his praise for the legendary figurehead. "That said, doesn't exaggeration benefit a journalist like you?"

Leif chose not to answer Gavril's question. He paused, setting his editing job aside and then stared blankly at the ceiling, as if collecting thoughts and important pieces of information from the ether.

"Speaking of your studies… If I recall correctly, you only managed to finish your first year in Prontera Art College, correct?" Leif asked after his brief moment of thought. "Well, knowing what you did _before_ you arrived here… it must have been pretty difficult."

"Why in the world do you even care about my studies? And with regards to what I did _before_ I got here, I just did what I had to do. But of course you already have my gratitude about that issue, so there. Going to college is optional in terms of educational merit." Gavril raised his cushioned cheek a few inches above the tablecloth and spied a glance upon Leif's face. His friend's expression was terribly neutral despite the fact he was _actually_ thinking. He had been taught about context and its importance in body language, but Leif was an exception to the rule._ I can't read him and it sucks so hard just to try_.

"Do you want to continue your studies, Gavril? Do you still have what it takes to draw and appreciate beauty like you said earlier? I have a friend who can certainly help you out. It's about time you rebuild your life for the better." He finally blurted out.

_I didn't ask for this_. Gavril shook his head in confusion. Taking up higher education was never a bad thing for him, but he felt a terribly hesitant in taking up the offer. _What the hell is wrong with you, Leif?_

Noticing Gavril's muddled expression, Leif said, "You have two options regarding this. You can either choose to enter a private university, or you can stay here and get home schooled by my friend. Now, which one is it? Your education is my priority, you see…"

_Is he really serious about this?_ Gavril finally sat up properly, and focused his full attention to Leif, who was now grinning mischievously from ear to ear. He couldn't tell if he was joking or not. _Should I take the bait, or let the chance slip me by?_

Leif clapped his hands in glee after a few minutes of awkward silence between them. "Your time's up, my friend. So what would it be then?"

"H-home school, but I – I believe it would be better for me to consult Anois with regards to your offer." Gavril uneasily replied.

Leif couldn't help but laugh at his friend's hesitation. "If you keep hiding under your cousin's underwear, then I'll be considering that you simply passed this opportunity to take art classes again. Whatever the hell are you afraid of?"

Gavril clenched his fists in defiance. Leif was taunting him with a scholarship, of all things.

"Silence means 'yes'!" Leif exclaimed. "Now, go get some sleep and we'll be leaving for your enrolment in the morning."


	5. Chapter 4: Sáhkku

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 4: Sáhkku**

**February 8, 1914 I.C. – Clock Tower, Aldebaran [10:17AM]**

Standing perfectly still near the ledge of the Clock Tower's observation deck was an aged man wearing a woolen robe. This man, who with difficulty carried in his wrinkled hands a quarterstaff which was decorated with numerous runes and sigils, had been staring forlornly into the distance since the first snowflake of the day fell in Aldebaran – he appeared to be in deep thought of what the future held for him. His dim grey eyes, ravaged by the elements ever since his childhood, were weary and tired of the everyday cycle of life. He frowned at the scenery before him, unsatisfied by the sight of snow simply falling from the sky meaninglessly. He had been standing at the very same spot since dawn, trying to find something worthwhile to do after years upon years of walking the earth.

If anyone were to notice him from below his current position, they would likely think he was crazy or was about to jump to his death. The winds at the tower's summit reach speeds enough to topple fully grown men, and adding the man's age, he could be simply swiped by a flying piece of paper and be flung elsewhere. Someone may even think he is actually a statue, or a performer who somehow managed to stay upright on the tower's ledge for around five hours without showing signs of mobility.

Yet the old man stayed silent and motionless, as if he died standing still. He sometimes closed his eyes to get a bit of rest from this meditative activity, and focused his hearing on the tower's sole working elevator – its creaking sounds easing his tension in some manner. Though somewhat rusty and unstable, it was the only thing he could rely on whenever he wanted to spend his waking hours on the tower's observation deck.

He had lived on the tower for as long as the citizenry could remember. He rarely had visitors, and only a handful of these visitors knew of his name. The authorities weren't worried on how he was able to sustain himself without ever leaving the tower's vicinity, but with regards to the identities of the people who actually paid him a visit. One such visitor was meeting him today.

Despite having this upcoming visitation, his expression didn't change. Perhaps this visitor was not someone he found interesting, or just a simple man who was drawn out of curiosity and decided to visit him and ask the _usual_ questions.

He remained still, waiting for the creaking sounds of the elevator to come to a complete halt. For a change, he decided to greet the upcoming visitor, for it was _supposedly_ his hundredth one. It was a rare showcase of decorum. He often snubbed visitors who took their time in paying him a visit, and simply asked them to leave after a few moments of interacting with them.

In the hopes of finding a little entertainment from this hundredth meeting, the old man turned his back from the ledge and approached the elevator shaft located at the center of the tower's observation deck. He waited by the entrance, like a child expecting a gift. He firmly held his breath, and placed his hand on the pillars supporting the elevator… as if trying to determine the identities of his visitors.

After a few creaks and pulls, the old man withdrew his hand from the pillar.

Realizing there were two people coming up the shaft, he took a few wooden boards and fashioned them to form a makeshift chair. He didn't require any nails to perform the task. In a peculiar binding process, he simply concentrated his finger on the wooden board's joints that he intended to make use of.

A few minutes more passed by. The old man, who was previously unexpressive and eerily calm, was getting ecstatic. He somehow felt that among the two of the visitors, one of them may be the one he had been looking for – someone with untapped potential, who could be able to change his boring life for the better.

The old man didn't care less if the visitor was male or female. As long as he found the person capable of entertaining him, it was more than enough for him to go on living. He had never been convinced by anyone to leave the Clock Tower.

The old man grimaced at the thought of leaving the structure that served as his home ever since his first day in the city. If this hundredth visitor of his will be able to make him go outside and have some quality time, then he might finally change his opinion of the outside world and the human race in general. In his mind, his nihilism might be cured if the visitor would manage to convince him to go and explore the rest of the world.

A few more minutes passed, and the elevator finally reached the observation deck. The old man smiled as its doors opened.

**Same Time, Inside the Clock Tower's Elevator**

Gavril Rochester felt uncomfortable with the way things were going for him.

Earlier, just a few hours past midnight, his friend somehow managed to lure him to continue his college education. Despite his initial qualms about the matter, he couldn't simply waste such a rare and timely offer. He wasn't going to pay anything, as far as his friend was concerned. All he needed to do was bear with the usual pressure of studying things he already knew.

Thoughts flashed in his mind –his only year in Prontera Art College, his former classmates and professors who scrutinized his artwork, and his family who didn't give him the support he needed. After deciding to quit the College wherein almost everyone ridiculed him, he decided to look for part-time jobs, selling and buying materials so he could go on painting. He tried to market himself along the busy streets of Prontera, but luck wasn't entirely on his side – he was often beaten by the patrolling guards who didn't want to see vendors on the sidewalk. He was an easy picking, and no one would notice him even if he died.

The mental images flashed immediately out of Gavril's sight when Leif patted him softly at the back. "You're spacing out."

Gavril shrugged off that brief moment of vulnerability and asked Leif who they were meeting up with. Having been promised of a wonderful meeting, he still had his doubts. His inquiry was given the usual cold shoulder at first, until Leif suddenly busted into laughter. Gavril couldn't very well gauge what kind of person was waiting for them at the Clock Tower's observation deck. With Leif's laugher as his only clue, he thought that the person he asked about could be "special". Somewhere in his mind, Gavril wished to meet a woman instead – but he knew that Anois would kill him immediately as soon as she finds out any affair he would be having.

"We're almost at the final floor." Leif murmured as the tiny indicator bulbs flashed on top of the elevator door. The numbers read "88". During this day and age, any building or establishment that exceeded thirty floors was already considered and engineering marvel. Somehow mocking the modern engineers of the Imperial Century, the Clock Tower simply stuck out as a magnificent example of the ancient's obsession for overachievement. _But Luina established this tower, so it had to be a symbol of perfection_.

The elevator cranked its way upward, sometimes abruptly stopping at certain points as if going a minor malfunction. Gavril could only imagine the scenery of the final floor. Whoever lived inside the tower for extended periods of time might not be sane any longer. It was freezing cold before they boarded the elevator, so what conditions would be there at the top?

"Just so you know, this person waiting for us was my professor back in college." Leif revealed. "He isn't an actual professor in the sense of the word, but rather someone who gave me all the answers I needed whenever an emergency arose."

Despite the implied realism of his friend's statement, Gavril understood that his friend was joking. If Leif cheated in his college days, it would drastically reflect in the quality of his work as a journalist. However, he was literally a success story given life by the circumstances of the world – surely there was nothing wrong with him. _He's got everything he could've ever wanted_.

"So you asked this person to answer your exams and test papers? Damn it, Leif. I never thought you'd fall that low."

Noticing the doubtful look of his friend's face, Leif reassured him that the person they were going to meet was trustworthy in all aspects. He appeared to be speaking out of experience, something that calmed Gavril as the elevator finally reached the end of its route. For a moment, Gavril thought the elevator door was actually broken. It took another minute for its locks to open and shift through the sides. As the elevator's door slid open, Gavril thought that perhaps, this meeting might change his life for the better. _Or not_.

The cold winter breeze immediately slapped the two visitors in the face after the door opened halfway through. The speed of the winds felt like they were being pummeled mercilessly by an invisible force. Realizing that they could endure the cold, they both immediately lauded mankind's ingenuity in cloth production. The frost however, had built up on the granite floor.

It was a frozen wasteland that greeted Gavril after making the first few steps outside the elevator shaft. Leif followed closely behind, gripping the rails as tightly as he could. Both of them held on firmly. A single slip will likely send the two of them across the slippery floor – and if they're unlucky, they'll get a free drop of a few hundred meters below. A typical drop of eight seconds from such a height would be more than enough to break their necks.

As the wind howled with all of its strength, Gavril tried his best to focus on the hazy figure standing still near the ledge of the frozen landscape.


	6. Chapter 5: Rithmomachy

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 5: Rithmomachy**

**February 8, 1914 I.C. – ?, ? [?:?AM]**

In a strange reversal of causality, the cold winter breeze that pummeled Gavril Rochester as soon as he entered the observatory dissipated faster than a snap of finger. There was no heavy snowfall, no wind traveling at breakneck speeds, and no frost covering the granite floor. Gavril began to doubt if he was still at the clock tower. He felt numb and disoriented, unable to distinguish top from bottom.

Before Gavril could open his mouth and ask Leif about the situation, a warm feeling suddenly engulfed his consciousness. He began hearing various voices, young and old – some happy, some sad, some in exaltation, some in extreme agony. He also began seeing numerous visions, scenes from the past and supposedly the immediate future, women giving birth, soldiers dying from gunshots to the head, townspeople celebrating a festival, and even a man dying alone in an abandoned train station. These surroundings all but evaporated into a pure white oblivion. Though he couldn't understand anything he saw or heard, Gavril soon realized that his mind was being mentally assaulted by a remote observer. Who or what was doing the attack, Gavril didn't had the chance to know. He was paralyzed, as if he was gripped by a giant pincer. In a few moments his body had succumbed to the tremendous forces it was subjected into. He tried to scream to release the pain he felt, but his voice appeared to be muted.

There was noise everywhere, no horizon was to be seen, and apparently there was no hope of recovering from the surprise attack that paralyzed him. Gavril tried his best to ignore the various scenes being played out in front of him. Everything was appearing and vanishing after a few seconds, and sometimes going right through his body. The pictures kept on gyrating, and the lights kept flashing. Gavril realized that if he had been a little bit weaker in terms of mental strength, he could've collapsed at the surreal reality he was currently experiencing. He wanted to escape. He had to. Then he heard a telepathic voice asking him a very simple question.

"Have you given up?"

Unable to answer normally, Gavril shook his head wildly and squirmed with all his might. It was a meager effort to escape, but he felt that somehow, the invisible pincers that were gripping him were getting weaker. It could have been a hope spot deliberately setup by his attacker, but Gavril decided to grab the opportunity and decide to break free from the terrible hallucinations. Everything was white. The floor and ceiling was totally the same. His instinct only told him one thing. _RUN!_

"Why do you try so hard to live?"

Gavril ran with all his might, ignoring the telepathic question echoing in his head. After moving a few feet away from where he started, images of his childhood flashed abruptly in all possible directions. He saw his younger self, displaying multitudes of emotions. He saw the child destined to become him in a few years – laughing, crying, doubting, trusting, loving, and hating. Wondering how he managed to become a cold and calculating adult, Gavril kept on running until his feet couldn't take the pain anymore.

"You have filtered your emotions since _that time_, yet you can still feel pain?"

It had to stop. Gavril somehow sensed that there was an end to these pointless attacks against him. Whoever had the nerve to assault him with his own memories will pay a heavy price once he manages to wake up from this "dream". Like a rudderless boat, Gavril exhausted himself just to advance, even if sometimes he appeared to have never moved an inch from where he started. There was no point of reference in the pure, white landscape created by his attacker.

The images kept on flashing. His entire life was being shoved into his face.

"That's surprising. You managed to endure the entire picture set I created out of your repressed memories."

Gavril didn't know if he should be happy or not with the message he was told, but he knew that the nightmare was on its way to stop – for the time being. It appeared that his attacker had used all of the possible fuel to force him into submission.

"Congratulations, Gavril Rochester."

Upon hearing this, he finally collapsed, smiling.

**February 8, 1914 I.C. – 14th Floor of the Clock Tower, Aldebaran [02:23PM]**

Gavril felt his insides churn.

Somehow, the nightmare he had experienced earlier ended without a clear conclusion. But one thing was clear. He was alive to see another morning of the unforgiving world. He felt lightheaded, unable to focus clearly on anything around him. From what his limited senses could provide him, Gavril deduced that he was in what appeared to be a makeshift infirmary. His head ached the moment he tried to get up. In reaction, his hands crawled towards the source of the pain, only to feel a layer of gauze neatly wrapped around his injured head.

"I see you've regained consciousness. Welcome back _Gabby_." said a familiar voice.

Realizing it was his friend Leif, the young man struggled to get out of the makeshift bed. He didn't want to show his vulnerability to anyone else.

"What happened back there? I'm quite sure that the landscape changed as soon as I stepped out of the elevator. The 88th floor sure is unforgiving." Gavril finally said after getting out of bed.

Leif frowned upon hearing his friend. "Whatever the hell are you talking about? The clock tower is only twenty stories tall! Don't you remember anything at all? You passed out after we reached the 18th floor. Luckily, Professor Marcus was on the very same floor we stopped by, and he gave you first aid. Didn't I tell you not to skip breakfast?"

"You must be joking, Leif." Gavril shrugged. His mind couldn't process the blatant contradiction his friend just said. He was quite sure of what happened to him – especially about the mental assault he experienced when he reached the 88th floor.

"Get a hold of yourself, man. I can't introduce you to your teacher if you start acting weird, of all things."

There was a barrage of knocks on the infirmary's wooden door. The person behind it introduced himself as Professor Marcus, whose raspy voice was immediately recognized by Leif. Upon opening the door, the professor ushered himself in and shook hands with Leif. He walked with a confidence of a real gentleman, and upon reaching Gavril's position, inquired about the injured man's condition.

"I'm fine." Gavril responded. "I believe you are to be my new teacher. I hope we get along well, Sir."

Marcus examined the boy who offered his right hand to him. He appeared to be bland and unsociable, but he felt that the man he was about to educate had the potential to do something productive with the current resources he had. Marcus realized that it was people like Gavril, who experienced more pain than anyone else, had the capacity to bend the will of others if need be. Ideas flung back and forth into his head. He could only imagine the possible futures waiting for the man standing in front of him.

Accepting the deal, Marcus reached out and shook Gavril's offered hand. "I've been living inside this tower for all my life. It's about time I set foot in the outside and learn a few things from the current generation. I'm Marcus Laine. I assure you that you will learn a lot of great things from me." He said, smiling at the man.

"So, Professor, when can we start his formal training?" Leif asked after pulling out a scheduler from his breast pocket. Gavril understood that Leif carefully planned this meeting way ahead of time. _Maybe he really just wanted to help me regain my dignity_.

The professor raised his head and thought for a moment. He appeared to be mentally viewing a calendar. His fingers were moving haphazardly and waving calculatingly across the air, as if he were counting results or important dates.

"We can meet every Monday, Wednesday and Friday." Marcus confirmed the schedule. "I shall provide you a wide range of topics every week, and set your assignments for discussion afterwards. The rest will be given to you in the form of manuscripts that only I possess, so you better take care of it as if it were your own."

"I'll do my best to meet your standards." Gavril said as he placed his hand on Marcus' shoulder, assuring him.

Marcus smirked. "Our primary lesson would focus on Oratory Skills. Prepare yourself for our next meeting."


	7. Interlude: Friends

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Interlude: Friends**

**February 3, 1914 I.C. – Nuernberg Press, Aldebaran [03:42PM]**

Leif Moreau was late for work – again.

The premiere journalist and publisher of Aldebaran's bestselling weekly magazine understood the consequences of tardiness more than anyone else. However, as far as his career was concerned, sometimes being late has its benefits. Though his lifestyle was not workable or even applicable to most people, he often tells his co-workers to cut themselves some slack. He never took things seriously. What he wants, he gets… in a rather slow yet guaranteed way.

It was a typical afternoon inside his office, whereupon he was constantly surrounded by paperwork from multitudes of subjects that he and his subordinates had compiled throughout the years. The magazine company itself simply started as a joke between him and several of his drinking partners, but ever since their maiden issue, it caught the appeal of the masses, who yearned for an alternative source of information rather than the government-controlled propaganda being fed to them through television and paper.

Being a meticulous person in terms of details and accuracy, Leif saw to it that the news and articles he delivered to the public were more than superstitious rumors or baseless conjectures. He filtered whatever he labeled as hoaxes, and consulted his sources daily for the best first-hand information available.

While doing his usual editing job, Leif came across a stack of paperwork his workmate left unattended. Frowning at his subordinate's lack of professionalism, he decided to finish it himself and planned to scold the truant employee afterwards. Upon further inspection of the abandoned documents, Leif chose to hastily rip one of the articles included in the bundle. He then went straight inside his private room, located at the rooftop of the printing press the company owned.

Upon locking the door behind him, Leif deftly reached for his pocket where he kept the article on his way up. He stared at the headline printed in boldface at the crumpled piece of parchment, and examined its contents further. He was skeptical about the details written on it, but he had to be sure.

_**SECURITY BREACH IN PRONTERAN PRISON**_

_Lazreagues, Prontera – during the wee hours of the morning of January 31st, several explosions were heard from within the section where criminals sentenced to death row were detained. The wardens, who were startled by the consecutive blasts, searched for the source of the explosion as soon as the smoke subsided. The guards were immediately alerted minutes after the explosion was heard, and the security level was raised to maximum._

_Amidst the confusion of prisoners and guards, a criminal identified later on by police records by the name of Gavril Rochester, escaped by using a homemade explosive along with two other convicts. The three men managed to disarm the prison guards on their way out, and shot four Royal Guards on duty dead. The three escapees are currently being searched throughout the countryside by the Pronteran Royal Police under the immediate manhunt orders of Satchel Kristiansen, the Chancellor of Prontera. The incident is currently considered as the worst breach in security since the escape of Kasper Alekseev from Swanhild Prison three years ago, using the same fashion of consecutive explosions made from brewed alcohol he managed to smuggle inside his prison cell as a catalyst._

Leif was well aware of the names printed on the report. It couldn't be a random choice of names that the police came up with just to lay the blame on a John Doe.

It can't be true, he thought. Perhaps the authorities mistook his childhood friend's identity for someone else. Perhaps Gavril Rochester was framed. Or perhaps – _No!_

Neither of them had gotten in touch with each other ever since he left Prontera twelve years ago. As far as he could remember, Gavril was a very obedient child. He would _never_ hurt a fly, as most people in their community back then said about him. He was too nice to actually live. Unfortunately, his parents weren't that supportive of him as far as he could remember.

Leif tried to mentally digest the information he just read with all his might. Perhaps he could do something. Perhaps he could try and prove to the rest of the world that his friend was innocent by all accounts. He'll try to help him out, despite the lack of details. He was about to run back to the ground floor for more information – and then his office telephone line rang.

The sharp resonance of the telephone's alarm rigged Leif back into reality. He knew he was panicking, and sweating a great deal of effort to get more information relevant to the article. It might have been fate that his subordinate left the article unattended. Perhaps he should take into consideration not to reprimand the guy after all.

Unable to take the pressure any longer, Leif immediately grabbed the telephone's handle and spoke at the mouthpiece, "Hello? This is Leif Moreau of National Priority Magazine. How may I help you?"

There was static on the other side of the phone. Leif, currently disoriented by the chain of events, decided to wait for another thirty seconds before hanging up. There was nothing to be heard on the other end, until a familiar voiced cracked the silence.

"I need your help, Leif. It's me Gavril." said the voice on the line.

Leif held his breath. He could still recognize his childhood friend's voice despite the time neither of them had any form of communication. Leif had to be careful though, for there were impersonators up and about ever since the dawn of humanity. Who knows if someone is simply using his friend's name to coerce him to help?

"I escaped from Lazreagues Prison about three days ago. I'm currently hiding near the train station which can take me to Aldebaran in around four days time. I'm taking Anois with me when I snitch a ride by tonight. Please, I need your help!"

It couldn't be that simple. This was the first correspondence they had after so many years, yet his friend was already ordering him around. "What the hell is wrong with you, Gavril?!"

The line fell silent, and Leif could only hear the muffled breathing of his friend on the line. It had to be freezing cold wherever he was right now. He had to do something. He couldn't think straight at all. What if this call was being tapped by someone from the government?

"Do not worry, Leif… I won't cause you any trouble, I promise. Please, just help me out of this…"

True enough, his friend managed to read him. Whenever Gavril went serious, he can focus his emotions properly. It's as if he can read people's minds. Leif needed only one more thing before he promised his help.

"I'm using a secure line, in case you're wondering. I managed to get your office number from National Priority Magazine. What the hell, man? You actually managed to make it big in Aldebaran? That's freaking awesome!"

"You can congratulate me later, Gabby. I just need you to answer one simple question."

Again, the line fell silent. It appeared that the caller on the line had anticipated that Leif was not that easy to sway. Leif was well aware that only the real Gavril Rochester could answer his question.

"Bring it on." said the person on the line.

"Great Oven Of Doom, Melt Our Raisins Not In Neglectful Glory."

Leif knew that anyone one would wonder if what he had just said was even actually a question. He had taught Gavril this simple code before he left Prontera, and had repeated this phrase well too often during their early days. It would be near impossible for someone who carefully observed the world around him to simply forget a code as simple as the one he told. In the event that the caller got it wrong, Leif prepared two more extra questions of the same nature – coded messages, just to validate the caller's identity. He and Gavril used only three codes to talk to each other every day… and he had just used the first one, which was apparently, the simplest.

"You're using the wrong code, Leif. Did you get hit in the head or something? It's almost 4PM, duh." the caller said.

Leif held his breath and checked his pocket watch. How could he be wrong, of all times? Cold sweat trickled down his nape, after he realized his mistake. He slipped up.

"I understand. I knew it was you, Gavril. Thanks for pointing out my mistake. I should've used the code for 'Good Afternoon' instead of 'Good Morning. When you get the chance, take a train to Aldebaran immediately. I'll block any news about you. Bye."


	8. Chapter 6: Daldøs

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 6 – Daldøs**

**May 30, 1914 I.C. – Nuernberg Plaza, Aldebaran [09:12AM]**

"It's been a while since I've read a history book, Herr Fleischer." said a wrinkled, old man as he squatted down beside his younger student. "Perhaps, you could fill me in with some details."

The two men were sitting on one of the plaza's numerous benches. The place itself was peaceful, and its cobblestone grounds were often covered by a flock of doves feeding on morsels thrown by the visitors. It was a typical morning, and the plaza was as lively as ever. The man being addressed as Mister Fleischer took a few moments to absorb the contents of a manuscript he held deftly in his hands. The manuscript, with a cover of a typical globe, suggested that its contents were related to geography or world history.

He adjusted his glassed in anticipation. "Where would you like me start, Professor?" asked the young man, his voice a little hoarse. He waited for his professor's response anxiously, repeatedly tapping the book he held time and again.

"Just give me an overview of the current conditions in Midgard. I already know of the growing number of expansionists in Geffen, so don't mention that anymore. That country is swarming with armed militants by the millions." the professor replied after a few moments. With a sigh, the student seated beside him narrated with what's left of his voice.

"Midgard is currently divided into six independent countries. Prontera, located in the central region, is considered as the only superpower after its victory over Morroc during the Great Desert War of 1910. Its current Chancellor, Satchel Kristiansen, is from a hereditary line of monarchs who is rumored to control the world's banks. Simply put, the two nations fought for resources, nothing more. As a side note, a number of its politicians are in favor of the possibility of absorbing Geffen, the Chancellor however…"

The Professor smirked after hearing his student's introduction. "Please go on, Herr Fleischer. I'll try to sort this fragmented storytelling of yours by myself."

"I'm doing my best, Professor." the youth replied in agony. "Basically, we have Morroc, located in the south as the second most industrialized country in the continent. Prontera forbade it to amass a military force no larger than two hundred thousand personnel, as well as the production of weapons of war. It was revealed recently that Morroc is probing the possibilities in harnessing ores buried in the Sograt Desert as a new type of weapon. The Chancellor didn't hesitate to place patrol vehicles in the desert border for surveillance purposes, which further irked the leaders of the latter. They should've placed more soldiers on the border, though."

"Stop speaking as if there are only two nations in the continent, Herr Fleischer." the Professor remarked.

"But compared to those two nations, the rest of the continent is simply labeled as allies of either Prontera or Morroc." Fleischer reasoned out. "Aldebaran, which is isolated at the north because of the Mjolnir Mountain Range, isn't that friendly to either of the two, so it decided to form an alliance with the nations Einbroch and Lighthalzen instead. Prontera is allied with Geffen, Payon, and Alberta, with Geffen now asking the Chancellor to simply merge the two nations together so it can expand its territory. Every other country wants to own that huge chunk of land and its resources, if I may say so. Morroc has its stalwart ally Comodo, but they haven't been in good terms after their defeat in the last war."

"What about Juno?"

Fleischer scratched his head in frustration. His professor appeared to have no intention of leaving any information hanging around. Resisting would only mean more assignments for him, so he decided to play along. "Juno remains independent to this day. It formed no alliance since its foundation and is comfortably isolated, floating effortlessly above the El Mes Plateau. Basically, the peace we are enjoying right now is the result of converging treaties between the parties and alliances involved during the last war, and the citizens of all said nations are enjoying their lives as if nothing happened."

"I don't seem to see that in Aldebaran." interrupted the Professor. "I've noticed that the dwindling economy isn't getting this country anywhere. How much is a loaf of bread these days?"

"It's around ten or fifteen Marks, depending on the variant. Anyway, from what I can assess, if something were to disrupt Prontera from its comfortable position, it should be big enough to excite its neighboring countries. I'm expecting something big to happen in the next few months, though. The tension involving Geffen isn't going to die down, anyway."

**February 12, 1914 I.C. – Chateau Rothenburg, Aldebaran [02:37PM]**

"Foremost, I want to thank all of you for visiting my humble residence at my behest."

Upon hearing this message, the spacious and ornately decorated room hosting a number of the country's elite personalities fell into a silence. The owner of the residence, Leif Moreau, stood atop the circular stage located at the room's center, accompanied by an individual unknown to the attendees. The unknown man, who sported a neat haircut, a pair of glasses, and clad in a typical corporate suit remained silent as he stood beside the owner of the residence. There was a growing buzz among the attendees who were trying to guess his identity.

"I believe all of you are wondering who this young man is." the owner said. "…and many among you are wondering why in the world I would introduce someone when I have no need of a successor… yet." The owner glanced at the audience, and smiled at them. He motioned the unknown man to stand in front of him, which followed. Now in the full view of the audience, the unknown man spoke after the owner gave him the microphone.

"Thank you, Herr Moreau." the unknown man started. "I am not that good in speaking publicly, but I do hope that my message will reach all of you in the clearest way possible. Now, for the things that matter: My name is Albrecht Fleischer, President and CEO of Rosenthal Publications. My company started out small like that of Herr Moreau and is literally an unknown player in the field, so upon having a chance meeting with him, I managed to convince him form a business partnership between our companies. From this day forward, I and the founder of the National Priority Weekly Magazine, Leif Moreau, will join hands in order to further provide Aldebaran with substantial news and information. We will also be expanding the coverage of the magazine so that it will also be sold and distributed outside our borders, with our primary targets being Prontera and Morroc."

The audience buzzed and clapped upon learning the development. A number of Leif's business partners greeted and shook hands with him as he went down the stage. The man who introduced himself as Albrecht Fleischer equally received positive reception from the audience. A couple of distinguished gentlemen came up towards him and gave him their calling cards, and further voiced out their intent in doing business with him and his company. Some, who were never aware of the existence of Rosenthal Publications in the first place, eagerly joined in and asked its President for further details.

"I believe we owe them an explanation, Herr Fleischer." Leif Moreau winked at the sharply dressed man on stage. He leaned on Fleischer's shoulder and whispered. "Anyway, your act is going well. Keep it up."

"I can't thank you enough, Leif." Albrecht replied silently. "I hope we can pull this off properly."

"Remember. You are no longer Gavril Rochester. You are a new man. Your records are clear. No one will recognize you as a fugitive. You are now an honest-to-goodness citizen of this country."

The man dubbed as Albrecht shivered at the thought. He was now a legitimate citizen of Aldebaran – all due to the connections of a single man. Before the public announcement commenced, he and Leif orchestrated a scheme to instantly erase his previous reputation. Even though he appeared to be Gavril Rochester, everyone in the country will likely dismiss him as a body double due to his good reputation. He also reinforced the act by wearing a wig. The only difficult part was for Anois and his Professor to play along with the act. They were now forced to acknowledge him as Albrecht or simply Herr Fleischer publicly or privately.

"Don't forget to give them your calling cards." Leif reminded his friend. "We have a lot of business to attend to."

"I'm still not used to being called Albrecht… but I'll do my best not to waste your efforts. Thank you."

It felt all too easy. He didn't know where to start. He wondered if he should feel excited with his new identity. He wondered if it was really over for his old self. He wondered if his questions were finally answered. In his thoughts, perhaps it did. It might have been a placebo, for all he knew. But he couldn't turn back now, after all his friend went through just to help him.

The possibilities were practically endless. He just had to pick the best choices available at his disposal and make good use of it. Gavril Rochester longer existed, and that was enough for him to feel at ease.

At that moment, a voice whispered in his mind. It was simple, yet painful. Above all, it was true.

_Sometimes, forgetting is harder than remembering_.


	9. Chapter 7: Patolli

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 7: Patolli**

**February 10, 1914 I.C. – Neuchwanstein Lodge, Aldebaran [11:29AM]**

"So I've heard from Gavril that you are to become his tutor… is that right, Herr Laine?"

Marcus nodded silently in agreement. What felt like a simple question from a finely dressed lady was in reality some sort of interrogation procedure that he had never experienced in his lifetime. The woman doing the 'questioning' was none other than Gavril's cousin, Anois Dupont. Everything should've been normal up that point. It was all but a simple conversation until Anois withdrew a pair of scissors from her undergarment and quickly pointed it at Marcus' throat.

The old man instinctively dodged back in defense. He understood immediately that he had to cooperate with the woman whose short stature played no significance to the threat presented at him. Having been cornered at the end of hall leading to the rooftop, Marcus scanned his surroundings for any possible escape routes. He remained calm, however. At the back of his mind was a growing interest to the inhabitants of the lodge. _It's been years since I set foot outside, anyway_.

"You see, my cousin has been spending quite some time with you, and I find it unsettling." Anois continued to raise her voice, all the while still pointing the sharpened blades at the old man. Marcus smirked. He had apparently overlooked the fact that people rarely recognize a pair of scissors as a practical and portable weapon. Nobody will find it weird even if he carried it in his bag, either.

"Are you saying that you don't trust me, Fraulein Dupont? Answer me." Marcus finally said. He of course wanted an immediate reaction, for such a question was often a clincher for most of the individuals that visited him at the tower, and it was obviously a trick. To say that one completely trusts him would be pure idiocy and naïveté, whereas saying 'no' would mean that one didn't need his services, thereby making any contract with him effectively null and void.

"I apologize, Herr Laine. But I will not answer your question. After all, I am the one you should be answering." Anois replied, which didn't surprise Marcus by any means. He found it amusing that even under such circumstances, certain people like the woman currently aiming a scissor at him was able to remain 'calm'. The old man realized that his methods of assaulting people's minds by indirect means were still far from perfect. What remained now was to find a way to dissuade his attacker from harassing him any further.

Before either of the two could make another move, the familiar voice of a certain man came from the end of the hallway, effectively interrupting the events that may occur between Marcus and the woman. It may have been fate, a stroke of luck, or maybe just plain stupidity on Anois' part. The trap wasn't properly set up to begin with. Ambushing someone requires a lot of careful planning and severe anticipation of the target's possible actions… which she admittedly lacked.

"Whatever are both of you doing here, anyway? Also, we're getting late on our schedule, Professor."

Marcus immediately shoved Anois' hand aside and calmly walked towards his student at the other end of the hall. After a few steps, he condescendingly glimpsed back at the woman who was shivering due to her failure. The scissors that Anois held fell soundlessly as it hit the carpeted floor, much to the old man's delight.

"I hope this had been a valuable lesson for both us, Fraulein Dupont. Oh, and I hope that we do get along." Marcus said as he reached halfway across the hall. "Now, if you'll excuse us, your cousin and I have a lot of discussion to do regarding this 'identity crisis' of his."

"GAVRIL! HOW COULD YOU IMMEDIATELY TRUST SOMEONE LIKE HIM?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Anois shouted at the top of her lungs. The old man's smirk disappeared in an instant, but he controlled himself in order not sink at the woman's level.

Upon hearing this, Gavril immediately rushed towards Anois' location, gripped her hands, and pushed her at the end of the hallway. Anois struggled with all her might, but she eventually gave in to her cousin's forcefulness. Her mind was already going blank. She felt her cheeks being grabbed and her mouth forcefully opened, until she realized that Gavril was trying to kiss her, of all things. This wasn't how the man usually solved problems, but Anois' body didn't refuse. In all honesty, she liked it.

"You're horrible." Anois said, with tears flowing from her eyes.

Marcus continued to observe his student's actions. Though there was nothing outstanding about the young man's personality as a whole, Marcus still couldn't discern why he immediately became engrossed in teaching someone like Gavril Rochester. Sure, the young man was a bit indecisive and pragmatic, but in most cases, he could be the only sane man in an insane situation. He can be the only reliable person available in a time of great need. Marcus realized this, but somehow, he found something lacking… like there was something holding the young man from being his true self. This gave Marcus all the more reason to find out what he can do to make sure that his new student will reap the full benefits of his tutelage.

But there was something in the way. His student was madly in love with the same woman who, without a second thought, drew a pair of scissors and had the hubris to point it at him. Distractions such as these were enough to break even the brightest of scholars. What more if a neophyte like Gavril is to indulge in such tasteless and pointless matters?

A minute or so had passed and the hallway began to fell silent once more. Gone are the sounds of struggling that echoed as Gavril and Anois decided to settle things in their own surreal way. Marcus silently watched the resolution of the conflict, checking each individual's motivations and reasons. It was clear that Anois ambushed and attacked him out jealousy. But for Gavril to go this far just to stop the woman from being a troublesome character was another thing that escaped the old man's perception. He wanted to learn more, and his wish was granted in front of his very eyes. He didn't even need to lift a single finger to get the results he wanted.

"What did he mean by 'identity crisis,' Gavril?" Anois finally asked, recovering from her torrid experience with her cousin. "Is there something going on around here that I should be wary about? Explain this to me."

Gavril turned his head towards Marcus, as if asking permission before revealing any details. Marcus simply nodded, and watched the event unfold by itself. His hobby was _human observation_, after all.

Gavril cleared his throat. It might have been a hard decision for him, or perhaps he didn't really want to tell Anois at all. He stilled his breathing, trying to find the right time to reveal his plans. A gentle feminine voice stopped him from quivering. "It's ok. Take it easy." the voice said, while two warm hands crawled towards his cheeks. It wasn't forceful, like the one he did earlier. Ironically, Anois was gentler than he was in terms of expressing her love. She just didn't want to see him around anyone else.

"Leif wants to change my identity." Gavril said. "I know he just wanted to help and all, but I'm still uneasy about it."

"Does that mean you're going to change everything? Should I consider 'Gavril Rochester' as a dead person?" was Anois' question, as Gavril expected. Leif already knew of his criminal record, and it immediately dawned upon him that in order to live a proper life from that point onwards, he had to 'die'. It wouldn't be long before the authorities begin to suspect his friends and investigate them. He had to be invisible. Literally getting past the radar would be a difficult task, for he had to ensure the loyalty of the people closest to him. _It will be useful in the long run, though_.

"Tonight, Leif will accompany me to some of his friends in the government. I will fabricate my records, if need be." Gavril said. His voice was shaky, but behind it was his soul – willing to go forward and discard his past in order to recreate himself.

Anois sighed, somewhat disappointed from the revelation. "That settles it. I'll consider you dead after midnight, then."

"I hope you're ready to see me in a wig." Gavril snickered. "I haven't worn one before, but I'll find something that will make me more handsome."

Anois wanted to vomit. "Handsome, you say? Don't try to cheer me up, Gabby. Once you complete this transformation of yours, I'll have to call you with your new name, right?"

_What would I name myself, anyway?_ Gavril thought.

Gavril Rochester – his previous identity will forever live in infamy. No one will remember his suffering except a chosen few. History will remember him as a criminal… a fugitive with no grasp of morality. He will be nothing short of a failure of a human being whose only achievement in life was having killed people and destroyed lives.

Anois pestered her cousin for an answer. "You've come this far, and yet you haven't thought of your new name?"

"I will think it through, Anois. There's still time left, anyway." Gavril said. "Some people actually find my current name hard to pronounce, so I'll guess I'll have to make my new one easier. I'll see you after I accomplish everything tonight."


	10. Chapter 8: Senet

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 8: Senet**

**June 8, 1914 I.C. – Luina Central Park, Aldebaran [06:23AM]**

Due to its location at the northern region of the continent, Aldebaran suffers from fickle weather patterns during the midyear. These conditions however, attract the majority of migratory birds that have adapted to the rapidly changing atmospheric events. Most of these birds flock on the Central Park's grounds, making it an ideal spot for bird watchers. Often, the birds present at the park either nest their way up the nearest tree they could find, or contentedly perch on the numerous lampposts that provide lighting to the park during the evening.

Migratory birds however, aren't the only ones attracted to the park's grounds. Every day, hundreds of visitors populate the park, making use of its spacious layout for trade and leisurely activities. The chaotic atmosphere doesn't distract the birds from coming, though. Over time, most of the visitors who visit the park formed exclusive groups or clubs and designate a 'territory' for their respective group events. Often, these events include debates, artwork exhibitions, and public parties that cater to the country's political factions.

"I believe it's about time you make use of the things I've taught you, Herr Fleischer." Marcus suggested to his apprentice as he reclined his back on a park bench. "Why not join a club or something? Try to make some friends."

_Making friends, huh?_ The apprentice addressed as Fleischer shrugged at the thought. He wasn't fond of talking to people, more or less enjoying a conversation on a whim. He only spoke to others when needed, for interacting with others was a waste of time and energy. Albrecht Fleischer, the publisher whose reputation now comes a close second to that of Leif Moreau a few months after his public introduction, didn't feel desperate to find connections or make friendships. He simply needed other people as decorations. The presence of people however, somehow reminded him that he can never be alone. Either way, he wouldn't get paid if there were no people who bought his magazine… so it was sort of a 'win-win' situation for him and his readers.

"I believe the park is hosting a political campaign of sorts in a few hours or so." Albrecht said, checking his notepad for further details. "I have no idea what their topic will be, but if it's related to Prontera and Geffen again, then I might as well stick my neck out."

"You keep on ruminating over that old topic, for goodness' sake!" Marcus couldn't help but feel a little sorry for his student. The young man was too swept up on the topic that Marcus could only sigh about his student's interests.

"Ideally, territorial disputes are solved through negotiations in order to avoid conflict." Albrecht went on. "I have a hunch that this campaign will uphold direct confrontation with the claimants as a solution, rather than simply sitting down and watching the birds consume morsels on the park's floor."

Marcus heaved a sigh. "Suit yourself. If you get in trouble again, then I'm not going to do anything to save you. During the last time you joined a park debate, you practically blew the competition with your outrageous storytelling. Heavens forbid if any of them actually understood what you were saying! I must admit that I'm somewhat impressed by your… 'heartwarming' performance, though."

"Stop being sarcastic, Professor. I understand why you think my past performance was a fluke."

Marcus shook his head. "Please stop being so hard on yourself, Herr Fleischer. You should at least consider that experience worthwhile. If you didn't join that debate back then, who would've known you had talent in public speaking? It actually made me proud that my student surpassed me in the subject I liked the most."

"Now you're flattering me, Herr Laine." Albrecht shrugged. "For all I know, the participants during that debate were all amateurs. I simply 'raised' my voice, and they cowered during their defense! That's now how a debate works, Sir. One must be prepared to defend and attack. It's a verbal war… a battle of viewpoints if you want to describe it further."

Marcus tapped his student at the shoulder and instructed him to look at the west end of the park. "Call it flattery or whatever you like, Herr Fleischer, but you haven't much time. Do you see those red flags?"

Albrecht turned to his left. There were hundreds of red flags fluttering in the wind, each staked on a pole and carried by a supporter of the political party that was about to make a campaign or a rally of sorts. The entire party occupied the park's nearest stage, and notified the citizens to distance themselves from the campaign site lest they want to join. With his blood boiling with curiosity, Albrecht excused himself and joined the rally with the mere intent to listen and ask questions. Marcus followed him afterwards, smiling.

**Same Time, Neuchwanstein Lodge Rooftop**

"You're here again, huh?" Anois asked the young owner of the Lodge. "I thought you were still sleeping." The lady was still in her pajamas, cuddling a fluffy pillow with her.

The man addressed as the owner was none other Leif Moreau. He appeared to be his usual self, neatly dressed no matter what time of day it was. He appeared to be concentrating on an article, for he held a newspaper clipping in his hand. There were numerous notepads strewn on the floor beside him, each torn and battered badly that no one would appreciate whatever text was written in them. The faint smell of chocolate wafted in the cold morning air, for Leif made it a habit to bring his favorite drink in the morning wherever he went. He also had a blanket over his shoulders, suggesting that he either spent the night on the rooftop instead of his luxurious room, or he woke up way too early and decided to pass the time on the lodge's rooftop to be at ease.

"I'm doing some research." Leif replied without even looking at the young lady who deliberately sat beside him. "I have a bit of a backlog since your cousin forgot to submit some articles on the designated deadline. I'm just vouching for him for the meantime."

Anois grinned. It couldn't be more obvious. "So in other words, you're helping him out?"

Leif's cheeks flustered. He had always been strict to his friend ever since they decided to change his identity. The act was going well, barring any distractions from the authorities. "I-it's not like I'm doing this for him or anything."

"Haha! You're using the expression that oriental maidens use when they're covers are blown! I can't believe it!"

Leif coughed upon realizing his actions. "Don't you ever mention that reference in public. I swear, no one will understand you."

Anois nodded with a mischievous smile. The lodge's owner was always easy to deal with and fun to tease, unlike his cousin. Curious of the notes that were scattered across the rooftop, Anois decided to pick one of the pieces and attempted to make sense of the glyph-like letters written on the paper. In a matter of seconds, the lady threw the paper back to where she found it. "I couldn't read any of that gibberish, Leif. What in the world was that?"

"Sacred Lettering." Leif immediately answered. "Our ancestors basically patterned their alphabet and writing system to that of the gods, whoever they may be. Back in Luina's era, these letters were in usage mostly by those of high rank. The knowledge was passed orally only to the best of the next generation of scholars. Sometimes, only one is chosen to carry the forbidden knowledge. Whatever that means, I couldn't care less. I just need to write this article for your cousin. He loves stuff like this… or anything related to his model of perfection. He gobbles it up like it was some fruitcake on sale."

"You seem to be holding something different from these notes, though." Anois pointed out, pertaining to the newspaper clipping Leif was holding all this time. "Mind sharing that other piece as well?"

Leif took another look at the clipping, and gave it to the curious lady who was now tugging at his sleeves. "I've been reading that article since it has a clear shot of the Pronteran Chancellor's profile. I noticed it just now, but the Chancellor actually looks like Luina. It might all just be a coincidence, though. But who knows? If your cousin meets her in the flesh, he might fall in love on the spot!"

"Take that back!" Anois demanded, puffing her cheeks for added effect. "Gav – err… Albrecht belongs to me!"

Leif chuckled upon seeing the lady's reaction. "Can't take a joke, huh? You're too uptight when it comes to your cousin. If you keep this up, people will just refer to you as a clingy jealous girl."

"Hmpf."

Leif scratched his head. "Now, where was I? Oh right – anyway, the Chancellor is making a bold move to ease the tensions between the pro and anti-expansionists that divide Prontera and Geffen right now. According to that article, she's going to visit Geffen by next week to talk with its Head of State. Of course, I'll be going out of town to get first-hand information… or if I'm lucky, I may be able to get an interview with the Chancellor herself! Ha! Albrecht would be so damn jealous if I did!"

Anois examined the clipping further. "If I recall correctly, Albrecht did say that even Morroc and Aldebaran operatives are keeping a close eye on the developments regarding this territorial dispute. I don't know… something just feels wrong about this upcoming visit of hers. Announcing your schedule on the daily paper isn't a good move either. Let's just hope she pulls it off."


	11. Chapter 9: Fanorona

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 9: Fanorona**

**June 28, 1914 I.C. – Yssnelf, Geffen Grand Capitol [09:45AM]**

Leif Moreau rented a publishing office in anticipation of the Pronteran Chancellor's visit to Geffen. He strategically positioned himself above the huge crowd that gathered for the Chancellor's arrival in order to take better shots than his contemporaries. According to the official pamphlet distributed only to the premiere members of the Press, the motorcade that will carry the Chancellor from Bergel Station to Yssnelf Grand Capitol will begin around ten in the morning. Only a few minutes were left, and security around the perimeter was at maximum. Protesters and supporters alike flocked the cobblestone streets of the country whose majority of citizens were aiming to expand and be absorbed by the Greater Pronteran Empire. Flags and banners were everywhere, as if a battle was going on minus the bloodshed.

Basing on the official news that Leif had received, reviewed, and shared with his colleagues, the visiting Chancellor had qualms with the annexation of Geffen and its possible ill effects for the Pronteran citizenry. Several analysts suggested that by pursuing expansion, Prontera will likely gain more territory and resources, and will undeniably cement its position as the world's leading power ever since the fall of Morroc. On the other hand, if the Chancellor ever discards any possibility of expansion, then her popularity with the masses will plummet, which can signal the end of her term. Geffen, with its initiative of _actually_ merging with Prontera is a move that any other country in the region would die for. Whoever declines such a sumptuous offer is either a coward, or completely insane.

"This is M1, current position is 14N 88W. I'm taking shots a few meters away from Bergel-Yssnelf Bridge." Leif radioed his teammates. The equipment he carried with him was too bulky that he had to leave them at the lower floors of his rented building. His co-workers were also dispersed on the ground below, keeping a close eye on any developments – this was a historical event, after all.

After a few moments, Leif detected movement at the corner of his left eye. _The procession had begun_.

Using a pair of binoculars as well as a camera from his location, Leif could easily pinpoint the Chancellor's location as soon as the convoy arrives at the end of the bridge. The immediate right after the intersection leads to the city's nearest hospital, whereas the next right turn leads to the Capitol, its streets lined up with restaurants and other establishments. Leif radioed his teammates once more, and confirmed that the procession is now approaching his location in a matter of minutes. The guards stationed at the bridge had successfully dispersed the rowdy protesters away from the convoy.

"It's going quietly as expected." Leif murmured to himself. He expected more resistance on the part of the pro-expansionists, though. But he couldn't care less. He surmised that if the Chancellor declines Geffen's offer, then the entire country is fair game once more after a few months. Another country will likely vie for the 'rights' to gain control over the disputed piece of land and resources.

Leif took another look at the bridge as the convoy slowly entered from the other side of the city. The main escorts had already passed to the other end, effectively limiting any uncooperative citizen from making unnecessary actions that could delay the motorcade. From Leif's location, it appeared that the Chancellor was clearly ignoring all possible dangers surrounding her visit that he had to give her props simply by showing up. _Bravo_. A few more moments passed, and the convoy successfully reached the other side of the bridge. No funny business had been detected so far.

However, just a few meters away from the bridge, a lone citizen, which Leif presumed to be a pro-expansionist, came out of the crowd and threw a smoking canister towards the convoy. Upon impact, the canister made a loud thud at a nearby vehicle's roof, and exploded with minimal damage. It was obviously a failed bombing attempt.

The Chancellor furiously decided to get out of her car to address the attacker who had already fled from the scene. "Is this how you welcome your guests?!" She said with scorn. The pro-expansionists among the crowd jeered her on, whereas her supporters simply shouted her name as loud as they could, crazily swinging their banners in all directions to add effect.

Seeing that no progress would be made if she stalled any further, the Chancellor climbed back inside her private vehicle and told her driver to carry on with the motorcade.

Leif took that chance to get more shots of the Chancellor. The failed bombing, which was apparently wasn't carefully planned was immediately dealt with by the patrolling security. The culprit who threw the canister however, was yet to be identified. Ignoring the danger, the Chancellor made her way towards the intersection leading to the Capitol, in full view of the awaiting high-ranking officials anxious to persuade to change her views about their country's offer.

To Leif's surprise, the convoy made an immediate right turn after reaching the intersection. It appeared that the Chancellor was headed towards the hospital instead of the Capitol. Leif didn't ignore the possibility that the driver of the Chancellor's car made a mistake. From his binoculars, Leif could easily see how the driver was shifting the automobile's gears haphazardly, as if it was stuck.

After a few moments of maneuvering, the Chancellor's vehicle finally regained its bearings. Leif could clearly hear the engine's churning echoes. There were a few people present at this part of the intersection, much to his surprise. The crowd most likely concentrated their forces on the other side of the bridge. The vehicle continued to adjust its orientation. One of the convoys came to the vehicle's right side to serve as a shield for any possible bombing, as attempted earlier.

Leif checked on his binoculars once more, this time, he confirmed to his teammates that the Chancellor wasn't alone in the car. She was with another female, which he presumed to be the Chancellor's Secretary, Francizka Thalberg. _Who would've thought that the two most powerful women on the continent would risk their lives like this?_

"This is M1." Leif radioed his teammates once more. "There seems to be slight mistake done by the driver a few moments ago, but everything appears to be fi – w-wait a minute!"

Leif detected movement coming from the vehicle's left side. The person Leif saw sped up, running with the vigor of a typical teenager. In a few moments that seemed to defy all logic, the unidentified man, which he also assumed to be a pro-expansionist managed to bypass the security by exiting one of the nearby restaurant's doors and hustled his way to the left side of the Chancellor's vehicle.

"Oh… God, this… can't be happening…" Leif murmured slowly in disbelief of the events unfolding right before his eyes.

Two consecutive gunshots – about 3 seconds in difference, were immediately heard after the unidentified man reached the Chancellor's vehicle. The assailant's shots were fired about five feet away from the vehicle – making the bullet's chance of missing terribly low, and ensuring a kill in the process.

The onlookers surrounding the Chancellor's vehicle screeched in terror, while the convoy guarding the vehicle from the other side sparked into action to catch the culprit, which immediately fled and jumped down the bridge and into the shallow Yssnelf River below. The panicked citizens who witnessed the gruesome assassination immediately spread the news to the other side of the bridge, were multitudes of pro-expansionists cheered at the 'valiant' efforts of the unidentified man. Most of the Chancellor's supporters wept, while some stood in shock, horror, and eventually anger at the course of events.

"Someone… someone just get her to the hospital!" Leif screamed from his location.

He checked the scene once again with his binoculars, only to find out that it wasn't only the Chancellor who was shot dead on the spot. Her secretary took a shot to the abdomen, in apparent defense for the Chancellor after hearing the first shot.

"This… this is terrible. I have to tell them – " Leif trembled as he fixed his equipment while running down towards the exit, and into the streets. There was an eerie silence that enveloped the crime scene. The driver, who was miraculously unharmed, was still frozen stiff into his seat after the events sunk into his consciousness. His mistake was considered by the witnesses as one of the factors that contributed to the assailant's success.

After a few critical minutes, doctors arrived from the nearby hospital to check the Chancellor and her secretary's condition. The aid efforts were in vain, for the Chancellor died within minutes in which from Leif's location, was a nasty gunshot to the jugular.

"What's going to happen with the dispute after all of this?!" Leif scratched his head in anger and disgust. "With the Chancellor and her Secretary dead, the assailant's faction… no – Geffen itself will be blamed for this horrible act!"

A nearby policeman, who heard Leif's comments while in the street corner, approached him and said, "You're from the press, right? I believe you got the facts a bit wrong, my good Sir. We've received intel that the identified assailant is from Aldebaran."

"How can you be so sure of that? You don't even have a photo of whoever the heck just shot the Chancellor dead!"

Leif couldn't make out what the officer was trying to say, due to the gravity of the events. He only managed to regain control upon hearing the officer repeatedly saying that the reports about the severity of the damage had already been radioed to the Pronteran Defense Minister. With the Chancellor assassinated, it was only a matter of time before Prontera declared war on Aldebaran.


	12. Chapter 10: Skáktafl

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**Chapter 10: Skáktafl**

**July 28, 1914 I.C. – Neuchwanstein Outpost, Aldebaran [02:36AM]**

Prontera had no particular reason to attack any nation despite the rising tensions that involved Geffen and its surrounding territory. But the damage had been done, and the results were irreversible. A month passed since the shots fired during that fateful day in Yssnelf broke the silence of the nations vying for territorial expansion. With the staggering loss of Prontera with the death of her Chancellor in the hands of a Pro-Expansionist Aldebaran citizen, the alliances that existed between its neutral territories changed drastically. A few days after the assassination occurred, Prontera, via its acting Chancellor, immediately delivered an ultimatum to Aldebaran and its allies, and enacted and embargo of essential goods and materials to Aldebaran.

Prontera's demand was simple. Aldebaran would answer for the death of her Chancellor by giving up parts of its territory to Geffen – specifically, the cities and villages located on the foot of the Mjolnir mountain range.

Using her Chancellor's death as pretext for war, Prontera threatened an assault against Aldebaran and its Northern Allies if its demands were not met. Naturally, Aldebaran and her officials refused to answer the ultimatum. It never gave in to Prontera's demands, which had a time limit of a month. Hearing no answer whatsoever from the officials, Prontera declared war with Aldebaran and immediately mobilized its infantry as well as the rest of its army to occupy the Mjolnir mountain range via neutral Geffen.

Leif Moreau immediately returned to Prontera after watching the grim events unfold before his very eyes. The details were still obscure, for most of the necessary information about the identity of the assassin was withheld by the Pronteran Press. Realizing that the assassin's identity would more or less be used by the Pronteran government as an excuse to justify an invasion, Leif saw to it that his closest friends and assets were all accounted for. The wheels of history had turned, and he would never allow himself to be left behind. He had worked hard enough to earn his current position, but in the current state of the country and the possibility of it being overrun by a foreign military power, his influence over several government officials would be considered moot.

After making the necessary preparations, Leif contacted his colleagues and ordered them to stay low. Being prominent during the time of conflict would only cause them trouble.

On the other hand, Albrecht Fleischer had no choice but shut his 'business' down and secure a safe location for him and Anois. Everything was going well for their plans until a letter from the military arrived at Albrecht's residence, requiring him to report to the nearest military base and enlist himself for service.

_Damn it. Why now?_

"This is a conspiracy, I tell you… a conspiracy!" was the final words that Albrecht heard when he last saw Leif. The young publisher couldn't comprehend the turn of events either. But one thing was for sure. He had to enlist himself with the Armed Forces in order to prove his loyalty to his adopted motherland. _Luina's sanctuary will never be tarnished by those Pronteran scum_.

It was a difficult decision Albrecht had to make sooner or later. His mentor, Marcus Laine, mysteriously disappeared around the time of the assassination and was never heard off again. Anois had to stay with Leif since she had no one else to rely to as long as Albrecht was in the military.

Albrecht gritted his teeth in defiance. He shouldn't be involved at the situation at all, but he had no other choice but to make sure that those he held dear would likely survive. He even advised Anois and Leif to evacuate the city and head north to El Mes Plateau, and seek refuge in Juno, if possible.

Maybe it was pure idealism on his part. The idea of fighting, protecting someone, and dying in the process of doing so appealed to him. Having hated his country of origin ever since his childhood, Albrecht decided to take up arms and prove to the world that his decision to go to the other side was correct.

If by any chance that he would be proven false, and if by any chance he would die in fighting for his beliefs, then he would simply become a hero or a martyr. Instead of being remembered as Gavril Rochester, a criminal with no future, he would be remembered in history as Albrecht Fleischer… a man who contributed immensely to the Aldebaran cause.

All he needed was a chance. The war was simply a way to a mean.

"If I survive this, I'll have the means to remake myself even further. All I need to do is pull the trigger." Albrecht thought to himself in an effort to rationalize his actions. Instead of choosing to flee the country with Anois and Leif, he decided to be left behind, feeling that a sense of duty for his country was something he never had before. Leif berated him, telling him that it wasn't necessary for him to prove anything, and his actions would more or less guarantee him an early death – something that Anois would never accept.

Albrecht simply smiled after Leif lectured him extensively. He admitted that he had a death wish of sorts.

Anois didn't speak to him during the course of their argument – perhaps unable to handle the situation herself. Albrecht consoled her afterwards, and promised to return.

After packing his things and his 'identification' papers that Leif helped him forge his new identity with, Albrecht left the Lodge and walked quietly towards the nearest military outpost, and asked directions on how to register for the Armed Forces. During this time, training was minimal and the military needed all the soldiers it can have – with or without experience in combat. All that they needed was a rifle, and a finger to pull the trigger.

Albrecht's thinking ceased after he signed and submitted his papers. His decision was irreversible.

Being in the military wasn't so bad. Despite the constant possibility of dying at any moment in or outside the battlefield, Gavril immediately adjusted to his surroundings. The people he met, young and old, shared a sense of nationalistic pride and dignity that he always wanted to see and feel. Aldebaran's citizens were resilient people, and their valor peerless.

At the break of dawn, Albrecht and his entire company was awoken by the sound of emergency sirens echoing throughout the entire base. The enemy had been spotted.

He headed to the supply room as he was instructed, and after a few moments of waiting in line with the other enlisted men, he was finally issued a standard Gewehr 98 service rifle. His ammunitions arrived after a few more inspections, and in a matter of hours, he and several of the men were loaded into military trucks bound for the Mjolnir mountain range.

Their first order was simple: Shoot and stay alive.

Albrecht viewed the scenery as the truck traversed the rocky mountain road that led to the foot of the mountain range. There were several entry points that the Pronteran Army could use to make a frontal assault, and as such, the Aldebaran Army hastily dug out trenches and lined the border with barbed wire and machine guns for the possibility of an infantry charge.

"This is insane." Albrecht murmured to himself as the first batch of enemies were sighted by the scouts.

The sound of machine guns rattled from the valley below, prompting the truck driver to stop and compelling the Company Commander to deploy Albrecht and the rest of his team. The trenches would serve as their cover so that the Mjolnir border would not be breached. The barbed wire will effectively stall any land forces that will attempt to occupy the mainland.

Upon hustling his way towards the trenches with his entire company, Albrecht and several of the newly enlisted personnel began their personal preparations before engaging the advancing Pronteran army.

Some of the soldiers prayed, while some shivered in fear while hastily loading a batch of bullets into their Gewehr 98 service rifles. A few more simply laid their backs against the walls of the trenches and breathed as if everything was going on just fine. There was a general feeling of impending death among the men, for any second could be their last the moment they raise their heads above the ground and fire with all the energy they have.

Without official orders from their Company Commander except to fire at will, the first batch of soldiers in the trenches had to play the waiting game. If they were lucky, the incoming troops would probably not fire until there was an opposition or a considerable target of their interest.

No piece of technology had been invented as of date that would allow the enemy soldiers to easily breach the deadlock of trench warfare. They either have to dig their way through the "no man's land" or risk getting shot while hustling through the battlefield en masse. Fighting at night or at dawn was a favorable tactic, but it was practically suicide the moment anyone decided to cross the line. From that moment on, the music available to everyone was the harmonious dissonance of bullets fired in every direction.


	13. 1st Epilogue: Breaking a Broken Man

**Funeral Cake Factory**

**1st Epilogue – Breaking a Broken Man**

**Lazreagues Riverbank, Prontera – April 20, 1905 I.C. [05:13AM]**

A few weeks had passed after the Pronteran government erected a ten-foot high, five-kilometer long concrete wall along the border of the Lazreagues River and Swanhild District. The wall served two purposes. First, it was meant to strengthen the border security of the country against illegal aliens who blend in with the populace. The government, under the leadership of the newly appointed Chancellor, Satchel Kristiansen, practically understood the motivations of the people who desired to have a taste of Pronteran lifestyle, but it simply would not be allowed. The country's security should always be firm and steadfast, and even the slightest of encroachments would compromise the integrity of the Pronteran Intelligence Department if it were breached at any point.

The second purpose of the wall was to serve as a barrier against the thousands of impoverished Pronterans who lived on the other side of the riverbank. According to the recent reports from the government, it was estimated that only 2% of the population was experiencing poverty. But statistics alone would not be able to describe the conditions that the men, women, and children endure everyday just for the sake of survival. The area beyond the river was technically a severely underdeveloped patch of land. Trade took place mostly in the form of barter or through shady deals from brokers from the other side of the wall. Security was high, for there were Imperial Guards stationed at elevated guardhouses that served as sniping spots to pinpoint any unruly citizen of the slum below.

Among the inhabitants of the slum was a sixteen year-old boy whom everyone addressed as Gavril Rochester.

All that Gavril had was his old set of paintbrushes for making illustrations, and another was his cousin, Anois Dupont. Every waking day, Gavril and Anois set up shop near the edge of the riverbank where the local marketplace was located. They would sell the paintings that Gavril painstakingly drew for a few gold pieces, until they had enough to buy food for the day. Their families were the least of their concern, for they already ran away from their custody, located at the other side of the wall.

It came no surprise to the inhabitants of the slum that the two had developed an incestuous relationship. Anois was always willing to go where Gavril went, and publicly pledged her undying loyalty during a local festival organized by the marginalized people of the slum. No one objected to their way of life, for according to the local leaders, _they never harmed anyone_.

The cousin's typical day involved the buying of painting materials and selling of paintings. While the two of them had no problem with the selling of Gavril's artworks, their ability to procure the cheapest of pigments posed a problem to their business. They had to at least get a package of primary colorants from the merchants from beyond the wall that were permitted to visit the slum and do some scavenging of their own. Fortunately, several merchants became the slum's regular patrons, and the citizens managed to make the cash flow in a manner that was both manageable and flexible to the point that they had created their own exchange rate against that of the standard prices that exist outside.

To the inhabitants of the slum, the twentieth of every month was basically "Market Day" wherein the citizens trade with the outside merchants en masse. It was almost a festival in its own right, but the local guards never kept the security lax. They still had to scour the area for any thieves who would take advantage of the situation.

"I wouldn't mind getting a discount." Gavril said to one of the merchants that visited the slum. "It's my birthday today, anyway."

Seeing the wide grin on the boy's face, the merchant decided to fix the price at ten percent lower if he won a simple coin toss. Gavril had always betted on heads rather than tails, despite the fact that the chances remain fifty-fifty at any given time. As fate would have it, he won the bet. It was another jackpot for Gavril. He could go on painting for another month or so, and double his savings in the process. At the back of his mind, he wanted his good fortune to continue. Nothing felt better than getting what he always wanted.

But change was inevitable, and Gavril could not keep up with the pace of the world that revolved around him.

Aside from Anois, Gavril had another friend in the personality of a boy named Leif Moreau. He had the typical features of a Pronteran, with his nose slightly larger than the average person. His eyesight was relatively poor, so he had to wear bifocals most of the time. He was two years older than Gavril, and due to his constant meddling with the transactions in the slums, he somehow became an established middleman. His father also helped him out with the managing of transactions, and kept his ledger on hand whenever a new shipment came in.

After getting the painting supplies he needed, Gavril and Anois decided to find Leif in the huge crowd that gathered at the 'market'. Even though the sun had not risen at the horizon yet, the sheer number of attendees, plus the lights that were set up beforehand made the market brighter than it was during the afternoon.

It only took a few moments for the two to find Leif, who was sitting at the ledge of a nearby roof. He appeared to be calm and collected as he surveyed the area below. The feeling of being 'above' everyone, or simply watching them from afar made him feel relaxed despite the weight of the tasks he will have to undergo late in the day.

"Where's your dad?" Gavril immediately asked after noticing the absence of his friend's guardian.

Leif tilted his head towards the direction where he last saw his father, but didn't say a word. He was obviously not in the mood to talk. From this reaction, Gavril and Anois assumed that Leif had not eaten anything since the start of the day, so they decided to call him once more. Fortunately, Leif agreed to their offer and joined them to eat breakfast.

After eating a hearty meal, Gavril confronted Leif about the true nature of his silence. He told the young middleman that they were friends, and that no secrets should exist between them. Reluctant, Leif gave in once more, and revealed his true predicament.

"My father and I are leaving this place in a few weeks." Leif said as he gripped the edge of the wooden dining table. Tears flowed silently down his cheeks, perhaps in disappointment or regret of leaving his friends while he prospers on the other side alone.

Gavril patted Leif at the back, and assured him that everything will turn out for the better. "You can't back out now, can you? Just make sure that once you get out of this place, you must never look back or ever return here."

Anois nodded in agreement. "This place is terrible, so we try to live as much as we can. You have a good chance presented in front of you, Leif. Take it. Grab it. Devour it. Make use of it to live your life the way you want. Don't think about us. We'll get out of this place sooner or later."

The middleman's grip finally loosened from the table, satisfied from the assurance of his closest friends. He had to live and move forward for their sake as well.

"Stop crying, Leif." Gavril said, rubbing his friend's back. "You have a long way to go. Anois and I will stay here until we save enough money to buy the freedom we so desperately crave for. Afterwards, we're going to whack the heads of those stupid Imperials for 'imprisoning' us with debt, poverty, and destitution."

"We look forward to seeing you again… outside the walls." Anois followed up, holding Leif's tender hands.

Leif managed to calm himself down after downing a few glasses of water. He decided not to regret anything. After all, their friendship was entirely the only thing he could count on whether or not he survives outside the walls.

"I pray to the gods that your endeavors manage to get you out of this hellhole." Leif said, while pointing his fist towards Gavril. "I'll see you on the other side some other time."

"You can count on us, Leif. This place will never put us down." Gavril replied, and met Leif's fist with his own.

Anois cringed at the sight of the two young men in front of him consoling each other. "You both look so gay to me."

"Not another word from you, Anois." Gavril immediately retorted. "We need to uplift his spirits! Come on!"

Unfazed, Anois ignored her cousin's warning and asked Leif if he had any marketable skills except for being a middleman. The world on the other side of the wall was technically far more unforgiving than what was happening in the slums. The citizens living on the 'civilized' part of Prontera grew to loathe the existence of its poor as time passed, and ultimately developed a great sense of hate and prejudice against their own.

"I don't care if they hate me. If I need to live someplace else, then I'll go." Leif sternly replied. "If my hands can't do anything, then I'll find a way to use it. I have to. I managed to learn how to read and write during my stay here, anyway. If nothing works, then I'll just keep on writing. One day, you'll see my name emblazoned in the most prestigious halls of history, and no one… nothing can stop me from being me."


End file.
